


Forgiveness

by taoroo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Domestic Discipline, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Roles, Multi, Neither did Krem, Other, Romance, Spanking, Trans Character, bet you didn't see that coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:37:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoroo/pseuds/taoroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem makes a potentially deadly error, but the Inquisitor is there to provide the forgiveness that he desperately needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Did you always know?”

Krem tried to suppress the wide grin that came with the intense relief that surged through him. Managing to keep it to a small smile he replied casually enough to the Inquisitor. He didn’t have to look to The Iron Bull to know that the chief was giving him one of his “I told you so” shit-eating grins. Bloody Ben-Hasrath was always right about this stuff.

It wasn’t something they usually bothered discussing with clients, the whole _Aqun-Athlok_ business, but if it was ever likely to come up the chief always knew the best way to handle it. His general rule was to be as open as possible, even if Krem disliked the idea  particularly when it cost the Chargers a contract. The Iron Bull always countered Krem’s arguments on these occasions with the fact that their leader being a Qunari cost them a damn sight more. Krem supposed he could counter _that_ by pointing out all the times the chief’s sent him as an ambassador instead for precisely that reason, but he knew Bull would have a dozen perfectly valid excuses in return. Bloody Ben-Hasrath. Some battles just weren’t worth the fighting.

He took another swig of his fifth mug of beer as he and the chief traded jibes. It was two too many if truth were told  he always needed a little extra fortifying when he knew this kind of conversation was incoming.

 _“Just slip it in casual-like into the conversation_ ,” The Iron Bull had advised. _“Make some joke about your tits. Inquisitor sees everyone talking about it like it’s no big deal and she’ll know it isn’t one.”_

That was easy for him to say, Krem had thought glumly. The whole reason they were even making it into a thing in the first place was because of the Lavellan’s increasingly hard-to-ignore flirting. Krem had learnt that early honesty in these matters prevented a lot of embarrassment and shouting later on. He suspected the Inquisitor may know, but that was something you never took for granted, no matter how blatant Krem sometimes felt his body was being.

But, miracle of miracles, she was actually laughing. She hadn’t batted an eye at Krem’s admittedly terrible “binding” joke and had even asked more questions, not even the rude kind he was used to. Krem drained his mug, grinning as the chief made some joke at his expense and then, emboldened by her response, turned back to Lavellan. Now that the air was clearing he might as well return the favour.

“And how about you, then? When did you know?”

Lavellan’s smile froze in place and the atmosphere around the table cooled considerably. Before Krem even had time to fully realise the horrible depths of his error, she spoke, her voice so quiet that it was hard to hear above the noise of the tavern.

“For some of us it took a little longer.”

Krem tried to think of a reply, but his mind, thanks to the alcohol and the blind panic, refused to bring up anything more sensible than _“shitshitshitshit...”_

Just as he was opening his mouth to stutter something most likely pathetic, Lavellan stood.

“Well, it’s been wonderful meeting you all,” she said with glassy brightness, “Please excuse me, I have a busy day ahead.”

And with a bow, she was gone.

Krem stared after her, mouth hanging open.

“Now that was a surprise,” said Rocky.

“You wouldn’t have guessed it, beautiful lady like her,” Dalish said appreciatively.

Krem gave a groan, squeezing his eyes tight shut and smacking his palms to his face, dragging them down as he listened to Skinner and Stitches both informing him what a colossal idiot he was.

“I know, I know,” he moaned.

Krem was rocked forward by the cuff the chief applied to the back of his head; tame in comparison to what he deserved.

“Well?” The Iron Bull demanded. “You going or do I have to smack any more sense into you?”

Krem stood hastily, if a little wobbly thanks to the blow and the booze. “I’ll just see...” he stammered, “I mean, I’ll go check...” And with those pearls of wisdom, he hurried out into the night.

o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o o~O~o 

“You ok there, prince charming?”

Krem paused in his search of the entrance hall and gave Varric a wan smile, trying not to show too much of his troubles on his face. “I was looking for the Inquisitor.”

Varric broke into a wide, knowing grin. “Finally put the moves on you, did she?” His smile faltered when he caught Krem wince. “Didn’t go well, huh?”

“That obvious, huh?” Krem said with a rueful shake of his head. “Did she pass by here, by any chance?”

Varric jerked a thumb toward the Inquisitor’s chambers by way of an answer. “Good luck, your highness.”

Krem resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Varric’s insistence that he resembled and/or acted like some sort of fairytale prince was nearly as irritating as the chief’s various “Krem” jokes. Still, the man was likeable and you never got anywhere getting snippy about a name. He could have easily called him something far, far worse.

The door to Lavellan’s chambers was unguarded, as usual. It had taken the span of only a few hours when they had first arrived at Skyhold for the Inquisitor to get her way on the matter. Not that he blamed her; anyone fool enough to try and attack the woman in her own room had a serious death wish, or was at the very least fire-, ice-, and shock- proof. Aside from the Inquisitor’s magical skills she was an adept at close combat, sending Grim on his arse more than once, not to mention the few times Krem had sparred with her himself and been hard pressed to get a blow past the woman’s guard.

He tried not to think about all of the interesting ways that Lavellan could maim and kill a person as he ascended the steps to her bedroom. He’d never ventured here and was surprised to find at the top that he appeared to have been transported to Val Royeaux. Fine drapes and tapestries hung from the walls, with plush furniture richly embroidered arranged tastefully about the room. A grand four-posted bed stood to one side, rich red curtains hanging from the beams. More curtains partly covered a balcony with a stunning view of the mountains, snow lit by the moon to shining silver.

Lavellan had her back to Krem, staring out at the scenery. She did not hear the mercenary enter and even from a distance Krem could tell her thoughts had her miles away, vulnerable. Her slender hands gripped the balcony edge tightly, and she wore only her vest tunic against the biting wind.

Krem thought he should say something to announce his presence, but, as in the tavern, he found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Lavellan turned. She startled at the sight of him, the green glow on her palm igniting angrily for a moment before she controlled its light. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were reddened and moist. Krem’s heart sank at the sight.

“Can I help you?” she asked, with brittle politeness.

The words were like a physical blow and Krem could not help but flinch. “I...” he hesitated.

“It is late, lieutenant,” Lavellan cut in, striding towards him but staying out of reach as she gestured toward the stairs. “If the matter is not urgent I would ask you to seek me out on the morrow.”

Krem flushed, fearing he would be dismissed before he could make amends for his grave error.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted, taking a half step toward the woman but then hesitating, not wishing to impose. “I wanted to say that. I know that what I did was foolish... and dangerous... and completely indefensible. I... I should know better than anyone that what you are is no one’s damn business but your own. I can only say that I will do anything within my power to amend this wrong, and beg your recognition of my repentance, if not your forgiveness.”

Lavellan had turned to study him as he made his rushed speech, one neat brow raised as if contemplating a strange new bird flapping desperately before her. Krem watched her carefully, hoping that all of the remorse he felt was plain in his expression.

“You Tevinter have such an eloquent way with words,” Lavellan said, her mouth twitching upward into a smile.

“I promise you, it’s no idle fawning,” Krem said earnestly. “The chargers will hold their peace on this for as long as you wish it, to the death if that’s what you want. If anyone else heard I will ensure their silence. Permanently, if necessary. The Boss can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”

Lavellan’s face registered shock for a moment and then she gave a startled laugh. “Sweet boy.” She crossed to one of the plush, high-backed chairs and sat neatly upon it, regarding the charger with keen interest. “I don’t doubt your sincerity but your alarm is unnecessary. My councillors have known my... condition since my first meeting them. We have simply been waiting for the right time to make the matter public. You are entirely forgiven.”

“But I jeopardised your safety with my careless words,” Krem stepped forward, his hands splayed out in supplication.

“Our situations are somewhat different,” Lavellan replied calmly. “I am in a place of safety, amongst friends, and in a position of power. It would be very difficult for any ally to act with open hostility in this matter.”

“But what of treaties? Alliances with Orlais and Ferelden?” Krem pressed. “What about your privacy? Your right to--”

“I have said that I forgive you,” Lavellan said, a stern note entering her tone. “One should not be dragged over the coals for an honest mistake. I made no attempt to steer the conversation away from the matter, and gave no indication I was discomforted, what reason had you to suspect I was not as open with my gender as you?”

“But--”

“Unless your intention was to embarrass and discredit me, or place me in harm’s way?”

Krem paled in horror at the notion. “Of course not!”

“Then it is as I say: you are forgiven.”

Krem gaped at the Inquisitor for a long moment, completely at a loss. Had someone done to him what he’d done to Lavellan they’d be missing a few teeth by now at the very least. He wanted to protest, to demand censure, but could not summon his voice.

“Do you often seek castigation for your innocent misunderstandings?” Lavellan broke the silence, her brow raised in interest.

“I--”

“It seems to me that you are not here for my forgiveness at all.”

“Of course I am!”

“Then why do you deny it, when I give it to you?” Lavellan lifted a leg, hooking it over the other and then resting her elbow upon the knee. Her gaze was now like a collector, watching the butterfly beat its wings against the jar. Krem shifted uncomfortably beneath those pale eyes. “Clearly that alone does not satisfy you. So tell me: what other means of absolution do you seek?”

“I cannot accept forgiveness which isn’t sincere,” Krem said hotly, his face pinkening with anger now. Why was she taking this so lightly?

“Oh?” The word had a dangerous, steel-barbed undercurrent that sent a shiver down into Krem’s gut.

For a two years in Tevinter his mother and father had scraped together the coin to pay for a few hours a week of lessons at the nearby Chantry. His mother had reasoned that a girl educated in her letters and numbers would make a better bridal prospect. Krem hadn’t hated it, aside from the Chantry sister, Rosetta. That woman had been as strict as an army sergeant, and any lateness or lack of attention was met with steely eyes and a lecture that left the ears ringing. She had always singled out a child’s most hated feature and mocked them for it mercilessly until the class was giggling and the victim was burning with shame and self-hatred. Even now, years on Krem couldn’t help hating Minrathous just that little bit more because of his inability, at seven years old, to spell the word correctly.

He remained tight-lipped, standing by his words, almost meaning them.

“If my forgiveness cannot be so easily given, how then do you seek to make amends?” Lavellan asked, coldly beautiful. “Should I discharge the Chargers from their service, perhaps? Though that would cause me no little inconvenience. Perhaps I will demand of The Iron Bull that you be dismissed from the company? I think that would have a similar outcome. Perhaps I should be asking you for your insight into this matter. How then, should I punish you?”

At the word “punish”, Krem could feel himself flushing, the jolt of desire in him not an unfamiliar feeling. He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to remain calm.

“I will accept any censure you consider fitting, my lady.”

“Truly?” Lavellan was silent for a time, but her eyes raked Krem like a scourge, stripping away his outward calm until he felt naked beneath her withering stare. He wished he was wearing more than just his light shirt and breeches, some armour would come in handy right now.

“How have you been punished before, when your tongue led you to trouble?”

Oh there were so many ways Krem could interpret that question; dozens of illicit meetings, oftentimes with strangers but mostly amongst those of the Chargers whom he trusted implicitly with his true self. Though those memories were fresh and exciting, Krem could only picture one with true clarity: Sister Rosetta standing with cane in hand, administering swift justice to the seat of a young boy’s trousers. He was a chandler’s son and prone to mischief, but though he and Krem had been caught in the act of sharing a rude joke at the Sister’s expense, only Luthen had reaped the pain of the willow stick. Krem had been forced to write lines, silly words that crowded the paper, spidery with the trembling rage of inequality.

“When I was ten years of age a group of we elven tribe children decided to enter into the forest in search of a legendary, wish-granting deer,” said Lavellan, pulling Krem from his thoughts. “Our keeper and the elder hunters caught up with us not an hour into our foray. For our dangerous disobedience we were soundly whipped, yet the maidens of the group were instead given additional chores as penance. At the time I found it infuriating.”

Krem could not stop the pained sound that escaped his lips, though for longing or out of distaste at the inequality he did not himself know. He dropped his eyes to the plush rug beneath his feet, unable to stop himself imagining the scene. His stomach clenched at the thought of a young Lavellan, wild-haired and rebellious, bent over an elder’s knee, birches rising and falling as the youngster wriggled, and whimpered, and cried, _and was forgiven_. He remembered the boys he had run about with on the streets, each receiving hearty doses of their papa’s belt whenever their adventures led them into trouble, instantly forgiven and laughing in the streets under his window whilst Krem sat in an empty room in disgrace for days, with barely a slap on the wrist to calm his guilty conscience. Their papas took them and hugged them close after a scolding, yet Krem’s mother would barely look at him if not for the glances of intense disappointment and disapproval at yet another _unladylike_ action. Was he jealous? Certainly this situation conjured up the same rage and impotence that those memories held for him, the knowledge that he would bear his guilt and shame for days, perhaps weeks to come. Yet it was all he deserved for his careless words, surely?

Krem looked up at the Inquisitor, about to repeat his thoughts but stopped short when he caught Lavellan’s expression.

She knew. Oh Maker, she bloody knew.

Heat rushed to Krem’s cheeks, burning shame, his eyes wide with shock and fear. His stomach churned; a swift jolt of... what? Anticipation? Excitement? Dread? All three, perhaps, in an uncomfortably confusing mixture.

Lavellan’s pale eyes were hard with stern authority but her mouth was curled into a small, knowing smile. She let the silence drag on, watching as Krem fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze. Then she shifted, slowly and deliberately unfolding her legs like a hunting cat until her back was straight and chin raised high, her wrapped feet planted firmly on the floor.

“Come here, boy.”

Krem opened his mouth to object instead the woman’s words brought forth a soft gasp of desire. Yes, he wanted this. He’d always wanted this. And Lavellan knew; dear, sweet mistress. The giddy feeling of pleasure that washed over him was almost too great to bear.

Lavellan snapped her fingers impatiently. Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at Krem, so alike to Sister Rosetta that it stole the breath from his lungs.

“Do not keep me waiting, boy.”

“No ma’am.” Krem lurched forward, as if pulled at the navel by an invisible leash. His mind was frantically running through options, fears, doubts. _This couldn’t really be happening, right? Was Lavellan joking? Did she mean to humiliate Krem as he had her? Did he even want what was about to happen? Dumb question, of course he did. But shit, did that even matter? It was a_ punishment _, right?_ Finally he decided on the only sensible course of action and shut down his thoughts completely.

It was amazing how easily he slipped into the scene once the doubts in his mind were silenced.

He stopped when he was in front of the Inquisitor, suddenly uncertain what to do with his hands but finally settling on holding them behind his back in parade rest, gaze fixed somewhere just above the woman’s left, pointed ear.

“Do you wear underclothes?”

Krem didn’t think that he could blush harder than he was already but the flush spread up to his ears and along his collarbone.

“I-I...”

“It is a simple question, boy. Do you wear smallclothes under your breeches?”

“I... y-yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Before Krem could raise a protest, or even knew what was happening, Lavellan had taken hold of his breeches and swiftly separated the laces, pulling his trousers to his knees. He was wearing standard issue, cotton smallclothes today, nothing fancy but enough to provide a good bit of modesty.

Krem was very glad that he had decided to forgo his prosthetic for the day. Sometimes a man needed a bulge in his arsenal, particularly when out fighting when every bit of testosterone fuelled berserker rage counted, but right now Krem was feeling very small indeed and was quite grateful that the front of his smalls reflected that fact.

“Lay yourself over my lap.”

Oh, _Maker_.


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan's legs were not as comfortable as Krem had expected.

He teetered a little on the thin muscles, one knee digging into his broad stomach. His legs were bent awkwardly behind him, the Inquisitor's lap too high to stand straight but too low to kneel. He thrust his hands out to the ground, letting the stones cool his sweating palms

Krem flinched when the woman tugged his shirt up to the small of his back, resting her left hand with its green glow upon the bunched cloth. The other ran smooth circles over his rump.

Krem was proud of his arse. Highly toned, you could bounce a septim off the cheeks, a party trick he sometimes performed when alcoholic encouragement was high enough. He was willing to bet even with the smalls up he made a tempting sight - he wore them tight for this reason after all.

There was a sigh above him, but it wasn't the lustful one Krem had been expecting. Instead it sounded resigned, bored even.

"I wonder if the message can even penetrate this thick hide."

Krem spluttered at that but before he could form a coherent sentence he gasped. The Inquisitior had gripped the flesh of his right cheek painfully, her nails digging in. She repeated the move with his left cheek.

"Really, I doubt you'd even feel your naughty bottom getting hot beneath all of this."

Krem flushed crimson, the words sneaking past his guard to jostle in his gut with "punishment" and the particularly _filthy_ way Lavellan said "boy".

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Silence." Lavellan pinched the sensitive skin of Krem's thigh.

"See what I mean, it truly is a hopeless cause. Perhaps I should dismiss your company after all..."

"Wait!" Krem twisted about as far as he could, tottering on one hand to grasp the Inquisitor's arm with the other.

"Please, don't do that."

"Oh? Then what should I do?"

Krem's eyes skittered away from the woman's piercing look. He turned his flushing face back to the floor.

"This... please continue."

Another pinch, and another gasp from Krem.

"Continue what?"

"Arrgh! This! This.... th- thra--"

"The word you seek is "spanking", boy."

"Nooo," Krem could not help whining at the babyish word. Soldiers didn't get _spanked_. Grown men didn't get _spanked_.

"No? So you don't want this?"

"Arrgh! No! I mean, yes!"

"You dislike the word? You're thinking that soldiers don't get spanked."

"Yes!"

"Grown men don't get spanked."

"Yes!"

"Foolish human." Lavellan's fingers trailed back up to Krem's rump and stroked it in gentle circles.

"You are not a soldier. You are not a man."

Dread emptied the soul out of Krem's mouth in a rush of air. That was it. Lavellan truly did despise him for what he was. He had put himself in this vulnerable position and now she would exact her humiliating revenge.

Krem dropped his head in defeat, clenching his eyes closed as stray tears squeezed from them.

"You are being spanked because you are a boy. A stubborn, bad-mouthed little bratling that deserves a **Good**. **Spanking**."

Krem's eyes shot open, his mouth gaping in a silent yell as Lavellan's hand crashed down to punctuate her last words.

He had no time to gather his wits, the searing heat falling once more upon his rear.

"What. Are. You?"

"I'm a s-stubborn-- Argh! Stubborn, b- BAD!- m-mouthed-- Argh!--" Krem's arms left the floor and wrapped about the woman's legs in an effort not to topple from her lap with the force of the blows. Those sweet, sweet, agonising blows.

"Continue."

The hand came down twice, so hard and fast he daren't open his mouth for fear of wailing.

"B-- bo-- ARGH!"

"From the beginning, boy."

Krem gasped in several heaving breaths and made a valiant effort. _Speed. Speed was the key. Say it fast enough and there'd be no time to get distracted by the kiss of his sweet lady's hand_.

"I'm a bad-- Argh!"

"Again."

"I'm a _stubborn_ , bad-mouthed brat-- Ah! Bratling thatdeservesaspanking!"

"What kind of spanking?"

Krem cursed under his shortened breath.

"I'mastubbornbad-mouthedbratlingthatdeservesa **good** spanking!"

"And why am I spanking you?"

_More? Maker, wasn't she nearly done?_

"Because I... I spoke without thinking and put you in danger."

A scalding swat to the soft flesh where bottom met thigh had him arching up, only to be firmly pushed down again by Lavellan's hand. She was strong, he'd forgotten how much so since they had last sparred.

"Care to make another guess?"

Krem bit his lip hard and stayed quiet. _What more could he say? Best to say nothing at all than risk the wrong answer._

"Think on that a while," Lavellan said, sounding not at all worn out by her furious pace. She tucked Krem into her lap, as if settling down to a long task, and continued. The intensity and rythm were the same, the strength in her arms feeling to Krem for all the world as if she could continue like this forever.

Krem squirmed. His feet drummed the floor and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.

Feeling lightheaded, he raised his head, burying his face into the crook of his arm and wiping the sweat away on the sleeve.

In fact, sweat dripped from his chin and ran down the nape of his neck too. He couldn't last much longer. _Sweet Andraste, your Herald is a_ fiend!

Lavellan's free hand, which he belatedly realised had been rubbing slow circles between his shoulderblades, stroked up until he felt her thumb gently wiping away the sweat on his nape. He shuddered at the intimate gesture and chocked as her fingers wrapped a firm grip at the base of his skull, squeezing the pressure points there and massaging the tension away.

Tears welled in Krem's eyes.

"You... you're spanking m-me because I asked for it," he whispered, watching the tears darken the stones below him. "Because I ne-needed it. Because I wanted y-you to."

Her slaps were gentler now, but it didn't matter a bit over already scorched flesh. He flinched at each one, savaging his lip to keep the sobs at bay. _He hadn't cried in years dammit_.

"Good boy," Lavellan crooned, her fingers carding into Krem's hair. "And why am _I_ spanking you?"

Krem's head felt hot and heavy, but the question still sparked a light of understanding in the part of his brain still able to function past the pain-hazed bliss.

_Time for a hail Maker, go with your gut, Cremissius._

"Because y-you want to...? Be-because you n-nee--"

"Because I need to," Lavellan said softly. Her hand fell, barely tapping Krem's bottom, and then stayed there to gently rub the tender flesh.

"Because you asked me to, you brave, clever boy, and I am happy to oblige."

Shame flooded through Krem. He shook his head with a snarl of denial, dislodging her hand.

"Not brave. Not clever," he growled. "I'm stupid and selfish. I came here to apologise and I couldn't even do that right! I just caused you more trouble."

The hand that had been at his neck before he had rejected it came up again, but this time Krem felt his ear being tightly pinched. He bit back a yell as he scrambled upright, following the ear as Lavellan dragged him - stumbling over the hobble of his breeches - across the room. She ushered him around a richly polished writing desk and into the corner, letting him go with his nose pressed against the stone.

Before Krem could organise his thoughts, Lavellan's slim fingers had found their way under the rim of his underclothes, tugging the laces free and yanking down the cloth to his knees. The feeling of the fabric roughly grazing Krem's skin caused him to yelp and raise up on his toes.

Though the long shirt covered his privates Krem's hands instinctively raised to cover himself, but they were slapped away.

"Hands at your sides, boy. You will stay here until I tell you otherwise, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a brief stillness behind him and then Lavellan moved away. Krem heard her seat herself at the desk behind him, and then the scratching of quill on parchment.

His bottom itched with a burning pain that demanded his attention. He desperately wanted to rub away the sting but dared not move with the lady so close and evidently still in a disciplinary mood.

Krem had not thought the whole experience would make him feel so _little_. He never cried at pain - as a soldier his eyes would never be dry - but the feeling of Lavellan's hand upon him, of being so vulnerable...

_Had the Inquisitor felt like this when she was punished as an elfling? Or had the act conjured up the same hot, sick injustice that Krem had felt, watching from the isolation of his bedroom window as his peers ran the streets sore-arsed and guilt-free. Had she been in Minrathous would Lavellan have been one of those little boys, looking upon Krem with envy for that same injustice? Did giving Krem the closure he needed so desperately satisfy her as much as it did him?_

_Though he was not satisfied_ , Krem realised. The twisted guilt still knotted his stomach, the burn from his arse nowhere near enough to overpower it. _So why had he rejected the Inquisitor just now? She was giving him what he wanted, what he had practically begged for. Why had he been so angry? If this brought him solace and her satisfaction, why had he called it selfish?_

A tension Krem didn't know he'd been bearing suddenly fled from his wearied muscles. He sagged, his forehead coming to rest upon the stone wall as he took a deep breath, then let it slowly out. With it came tears; frustrated, wearied tears that dropped fatly from his nose and chin.

Lavellan's hands appeared on Krem's shoulders and he was gently turned about. He could not look upon the lady but she did not demand it, simply taking him by the hand and guiding him across the room. Krem shuffled awkwardly with his clothes tangled around his ankles so, hardly paying attention in his self-reproachful misery when they bypassed what would now be known as The Spanking Chair, and instead came to the bed.

Krem sniffled and whimpered as Lavellan guided him over her lap once more, both dreading and inviting the pain to come. She helped to lift the merc's legs so that he lay fully on the bed, head beside a post and heart in his mouth.

Her hand again came to his neck, pressing down with comforting firmness as she settled his positioning. His shirt was brought up, nearly to his shoulders but still covering the binder, thank Andraste. Then she stretched over him, unlacing Krem's boots and pulling them free. The breeches and smalls went next, until all Krem was left with was his binder and shirt; thoroughly exposed, yet entirely safe.

Lavellan stroked Krem's backside, prompting a hiss and reignighting the burn there. Sensing her hand raising, Krem grit his teeth and pressed his face into the bedspread.

The swat was agony. Krem keened long and low into the bedding, flinching and yelping as more blows felt. The tears wouldn't stop, his nose was running, but his heart lightened with every passing moment.

"If I thought you an inconvenience would I do this?" Lavellan asked. "Would I take time over you, or would I cast you out? Is this response sincere enough for your liking?"

"Y-yes, Inquisitor."

"No," Lavellan's hand paused in its rhythm to squeeze harshly at the sore flesh, "Not Inquisitor, not here. Call me what you did before, let me hear you say it again."

At Krem's pause of hesitation the hand moved, swiftly laying down scorching slaps to Krem's as-yet untouched thighs.

"YES MA'AM!" Krem keened, drumming his toes into the mattress in his efforts to keep his upper legs still.

"Here there is no Inquisitor, only the lady Lavellan" Lavellan repeated, her assault on Krem's thighs almost unbearably hard. The skin prickled and burned. "Here there is no warrior Aclassi, there is only you, my bratling boy."

Krem whined and flung his arms about the bedpost, gripping so tightly the wood creaked. His breath was leaving him in gusts, tears blinding him, his head singing.

"Who. Am. I?"

"You are my lady!" Krem sobbed, unable to keep his cries quiet for the furious pace the elf was setting. Relentless, unyielding, perfect.

"And what are you?"

" **I am your boy!** " Krem roared. And came in a shuddering rush that heralded darkness beyond.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Krem lay still as awareness trickled back to his mind, along with a sick dread.

He'd really crossed the line now, and no amount of apologies would cover for this fuck up.

He stared through blurred eyes at his hands where they gripped the bedpost, and tried not to think about the throbbing pleasure that sent warm aftershocks from between his legs.

 _Fuck. He'd really fucked up now. What sick bastard got off on having his arse thrashed while someone called them a naughty boy?_ Even Grim, whose surprising and various sexual kinks had many times been revealed to the chargers by breathless bedmates, never leant himself toward humiliation as a fetish.

"Krem."

He flinched at Lavellan's call but could not answer it. _How could he bear to face the lady, who most surely would be disgusted by his actions?_

"Krem, look at me."

 _He must still be under the influence of her authority_ , Krem thought, as his body obeyed the command. Hesitantly he looked up into the Inquisitor's face.

Her cheeks were flushed dark pink, wide eyes moistly shining, the pupils blown with desire. Her breathing was rapid but shallow. Her lips, plump and wetted, were parted softly into a sultry smile.

"Better?" she asked, her voice husky.

Krem felt himself nodding sleepily. He followed the woman's gaze downward and noted for the first time the dampness about his lower belly, resting as it was between Lavellan's thighs.

Flushing scarlett his eyes shot up, confirming his suspicions with the glint in her eye.

"Up, lititle bratling," Lavellan ordered. She helped Krem rise then pulled him into a tight embrace as she spread her legs, sitting him upon her thighs so that his scorched arse hung between them.

"Feel better?" she asked, pushing Krem's sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes.

"Much," Krem replied, and meant it. He tucked his chin and buried his cheek into the hollow of her neck, letting the woman cradle him there like a babe.

"Th-thank you, my lady."

"You are most welcome, precious."

Krem let out a huff of air, treasuring the words as a few more tears leaked from his sore eyes. He listened to Lavellan's heart beating, the rate slowing as they sat there in peaceful silence. Her arms were wrapped about him, one resting gently on his hip as the other stroked the nape of his neck in a comforting way.

Eventually, Krem looked up, seeing that the lady's eyes were closed in contentment. She was beautiful, still in absolute control, as permanent as the mountains that surrounded them.

"Ma'am, I..." he looked away and then back, resolve firming as she opened her eyes to regard him fondly. "May I kiss you?"

Lavellan's smile widened and she nodded wordlessly. The kiss was soft and needy, their hearts pressed close together, hammering hard. Lavellan's hands wandered down to Krem's backside and he yelped around her chuckling mouth.

"Brat," she muttered, lips grazing his.

" _Your_ brat," Krem confirmed. Uncertainty crept into his heart once more. "If... if that is what you want?"

"You mean, am I on the look-out for a naughty little boy to spoil and spank whenever the occasion arises?" Lavellan asked with a wicked grin. "It just so happens that I might."

Krem heaved a sigh of relief, his fingers loosening from where he hadn't realised he had been tightly gripping the woman's shirt.

"Just those two?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

Krem squirmed under the woman's scrutiny. "I mean, just spoiling and s- spa..."

"Spanking?" A hand squeezed his backside, making him gasp and squirm. That caused Krem to grind his hip on Lavellan's lap, eliciting a matching gasp from her.

"What about that?" Krem asked, flashing a cheeky smile. He yelped when Lavellan lightly swatted his burning skin, burying his head in her collarbone as he bit back any more noise. It had been only a light tap but the pain was sweet agony upon the abused flesh.

"Perhaps, my naughty boy," Lavellan said above him. "In time, perhaps."

"Good enough for me, ma'am."

Lavellan kissed the top of Krem's head - a feeling of belonging like no other - and then rolled them so that Krem lay on his side upon the bed.

"I have a salve for that hot bottom of yours," she said, making to get up, but was held back by the merc's hand.

"I want to feel it," he said, blushing once more. "Please."

Lavellan smiled, patting his head fondly. "Sleep then... if you'll stay?"

"Nothing would please me more... My lady."


End file.
